their attack was beyond the
reach of capture.

Meynell did not venture to go again to his lodgings: he changed his
dress at the house of an acquaintance, and, warned by his narrow
escape, determined at once to leave England. He wandered along by the
wharves, making inquiries about any vessels that were to sail
immediately, little caring what their destination might be. It so
happened that he heard of one at hand that was to sail for Canada that
day. He was at once resolved. A favourable night's play had put him in
possession of sufficient funds. He purchased a few necessary articles
for the voyage, and before evening fell, was sailing down the
river--an exile--an outcast from the land of his birth, which he was
never to see again.

During the voyage, his great powers of conviviality made him a special
favourite of the captain of the vessel; of course, he bore an assumed
name, and professed to be merely going out with the intention of
becoming a settler, if he liked the promise of the country. He also
made up a plausible story, of having been disappointed in his passage
by another ship, and forced at the last moment to hurry on board this
one. With the captain, however, he held a greater confidence; and
although no particulars were entered into, it transpired during their
carouses that he and the law were at variance.

The voyage passed without any event worth recording, and early on a
bright September morning they awoke under the shade of the bold
headland of Quebec. Meynell's critical taste was gratified by the
mingled grandeur and softness of the scene; he was in no hurry to go
ashore, friendless and objectless as he was, so he leant his head upon
his hand, and gazed out quietly over the side of the vessel, enjoying
the view so far as his diseased mind was capable of receiving
gratification from a harmless pleasure. He took little notice of the
boats that came to, and left the ship, nor did he ask the news of any
one. What cared he for news? He saw old friends or long separated
relatives meet on the deck with warm and happy recognition. But there
was none to welcome him. It would be hard to say what thoughts then
crossed the dark stage of his mind; some long hidden spring of feeling
may have been touched by what was passing round that lost and lonely
man; by little and little his head sank lower and lower, till his face
was buried in his hands, and so he stood.

He had remained for a long time silent and motionl